Echos of a Nation
by g8res
Summary: Learn the various thought and actions of the nations throughout history. From Roaring 20's America to Nazi Germany to Communist China, know how they acted around their different historical figures and eras. Focuses mainly on WW2 and the Cold War.
1. All Heil Mien Fuhrer

War was a fickle thing, that was for sure. But war was war and if the Fuhrer decreed it was so, it was justified. It was Poland who had started it, was it not? Who else could it have been?

_Surely not me? _

Germany entered the hall with his older brother Prussia. He was completely ecstatic and ready to carry out whatever orders his leader had for him. The new chancellor was completely amazing! Fixing the destroyed German economy was no simple task, yet the man had managed to accomplish it.

For the first time in decades the German people weren't starving and had a good future to look forward too. For the first time in decades they held pride in their country.

_For the first time in decades he had pulled out a weapon that should have never been made, choosing to use it on the ones he had called his own._

Originally he had heeded to his brother's paranoia. Prussia had balked at the policies the Fuhrer had made and to be honest Germany had considered the new reforms completely crazy as well. But at this point he could see Prussia's so-called "awesome wisdom" was only his brother's sad attempt to cling to his old ways. He never could accept the dissolution.

Perhaps there would come a time where his older brother could realize the positive and constructive influence of the NSDAP party. Until then...oh well, it was the young who had the inspiration for change.

_And the old who had wisdom for knowledge. Until then... _

The sound of boots clicking on the pavement broke him out of his thoughts. The brothers turned around towards the noise, Prussia's passive face turning grim while Germany felt himself tense with excitement.

"Heil Hitler!" Arm thrust up and forward, Germany enthusiastically greeted his leader. An accomplished grin laced his mouth. This was the man who had helped Germany from the brink of destruction, the economic ruin a slow withering fate. This was the man who had gotten his people the money for clothes and food. Who had given him a military to defend himself, a sense of hope to continue.

_This was the man who was killing his people. Gassing him, starving him, one filthy little Jew at a time. Wasn't this the man who was solving his...Problem?_

Adolf Hitler.

His eyes looked over his nation, crinkling slightly as he smiled with pride. Germany was the model Aryan, golden hair and electric eyes. In a crisp uniform with his hands clasped behind his back, he was a hard worker, a strong soldier, a true German.

_A heartless witness, a killer, awaiting his verdict..._

The Fuhrer's stare quickly flickered over Prussia, unimpressed. He had failed to salute, a simple task of respect. His silver hair and ruby irises also failed to coincide with what was wanted, what was needed for the greater good of the Fatherland. It was un-German. Un-Aryan.

Between the two, the feelings were mutual. Disgust quietly mirrored disgust, and each knew the other could tell. Prussia might possibly have to go. Only for the Fuhrer though. At least he stayed silent. How odd.

H_ow odd? Wasn't he German? He's your brother Gott verdammt! Your own brother!_

But Prussia was simply a shadow in the back, a thing that could be ignored. To be looked upon only for one to look away. He wasn't needed. Or wanted, for that matter.

_Like the Polish. Like the Jews. _

The Polish, on the other hand, were a whole other matter altogether. Germany needed more land after all; the lands stolen from Versailles. All his pride stolen from that bastard France. The only thing that could redeem him was giving him back what was needed, and that was land. It was part of his pride.

Living space for the future generation that was to populate the Earth. They were master race. Made to reclaim what had been lost and they needed the land that Poland didn't deserve.

_Why Poland? Needed?_

They were massacring the Germans in Poland. The Polish authorities were accepting, even ordering ethnic cleansing to slaughter Aryans. All to make way for their soiled Jewish blood. They had shown their hatred for all things German in the station in Gleiwitz.

_Make the lie big_

Not to mention Honiok, _oh Honiok,_ the poor man. They had shot him, eventually leaving the man to die from the multiple bullet holes. Bleeding and broken, his corpse was a testament to the Polish aggression against Germany. Poland was trying to humiliate him– just like Versailles.

_Make it simple _

Just like everyone else. He wasn't blind to their antics, to the way they would avoid him. He could hear their traitorous whispers behind his back and noticed the sneaky way they would shake hands when they thought he couldn't see. They were all out to get him. The bastards.

_Keep saying it_

The Fuhrer might have been crazy but he was right, Poland had started it. Aggravating him by doing _Gott _knows what, to the poor Germans who had the misfortune to live in Polish territory. It only made sense that as their fellow countrymen, they should be the ones to liberate their trapped Aryan brethren of this forsaken world.

_And eventually they will believe it. _

"Did you agree with the invasion, Germany? I would like to get your consent before we begin plans for occupation." Germany nodded, ignoring his brother's sudden stiffness.

"Yes, I agree. I was a bit skeptical at first but Poland's actions these past months have shown that we cannot leave him to his own devices." Narrowing his eyes at the memory of his shock from the reports, he bitterly added, "Gleiwitz was enough poof of that."

The Fuhrer nodded his agreement. "I thought so as well." Patting his nation on the shoulder, he smiled then started to walk away towards his office. "_Auf Wiedersehen Deutshland_, keep holding your form up like this and you'll turn into a great country in no time." Germany felt his cheeks heat up with satisfaction as a large grin split his lips.

_How fortunate for leaders that men do not think. Eh, Deutshland?_

The two brothers watched the turned back of the Fuhrer retreat into his office. One, fearful of the future, tipped his hat down hiding his eyes and disguising his emotions, the other, confident in his leader, kept his eyes trained on the Fuhrer's door. His expression was carefully guarded yet held an air of thoughtfulness around it. One could only guess what he was thinking.

_War was a fickle thing, indeed. Right mien Fuhrer?_

* * *

**A/N**

**Sorry for the long authors note ^_^; Please please comment! This fic dies (slowly and painfully) without them**

**I've seen a lot of fanfics where countries are forced to do things by their leaders and in my head-cannon I have to doubt that. It was true that Germany did call Hitler crazy in the anime but I think that might have been when he was coming into power because by the time Hitler was a full out dictator many Germans loved him because he helped to fix their jacked up economy.**

**Luckily there were sane Germans around (not many though) so I would assume they would filter into Germany's guilty conscious.**

**Considering Prussia was a military state controlled by the Catholic church he probably wouldn't be cool with the Fuhrer (Not to mention many Catholic churches helped to smuggle Jews out.)**

**Anyways here are a couple translations/definitions**

**Fuhrer-German word for leader**

**NSDAP- Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei aka long name for Nazi party**

**Chancellor-Leader of Germany**

**Gott-God**

**Verdammt-D*mmit**

**Mien-My**

**Auf Wiedersehen-Goodbye**

**Deutshland-Germay**

**Heil-Hail**

**Aryan- Blonde haired, blue eyed people (Hitler called them the Master Race...even though he had brown hair and eyes... -_-;)**

**History time!**

**The Treaty of Versailles of 1919 was the peace treaty that was created as a result of the six-month-long Paris Peace Conference of 1919[?] which put an official end to World War I. The treaty was ratified on January 10, 1920 and required that Germany accept responsibility for the war and was thus obliged to pay large amounts of compensation (known as war reparations[?]). Like many other treaties, it is named for the place of its signing: the Hall of Mirrors[?] in the Palace of Versailles. On January 18, 1919 a peace conference opened in Versailles, France to work on the treaty.**

**The treaty of Versailles also greatly restricted the German armed forces.**

**The treaty established a commission which was to determine the exact size of the reparations to be paid by Germany. In 1921, this number was officially put at $33,000,000,000, a sum that many economists deemed to be excessive. The economic problems that the payments brought are cited as one of the causes of the end of the Weimar Republic and the dictatorship of Adolf Hitler, which inevitably led to the outbreak World War II.**

**-[source] .Au**

**(Poor Germany...)**

**The Gleiwitz incident was a staged attack by Nazi forces posing as Poles on 31 August 1939, against the German radio station _Sender Gleiwitz_ in Gleiwitz, Upper Silesia, Germany on the eve of World War II in Europe.**

**This provocation was the best-known of several actions in Operation Himmler, a series of unconventional operations undertaken by the SS in order to serve specific propaganda goals of Nazi Germany at the outbreak of the war. It was intended to create the appearance of Polish aggression against Germany in order to justify the subsequent invasion of Poland.**

**-[source]Wikipeidia**

**(Nevermind, screw you Germany)**


	2. Chill of the Heart

**A/N: Sorry for the long update! This one was a bit difficult because I'm not used to writing in this style. Please comment!**

As the icy winds surrounding him whips around, the man groans, forcing his strained body to take one more step. It was nothing new, the cold loneliness of his heart weighing him down while the freezing gale wraps around his tired limbs like heavy chains.

General Winter– as that seemed to be his title for now– held the heavy burden of the frost. He was a nation, a nation of uninhabited chilly lands that scattered this Earth. Winter was not his power, it was a force that would come regardless of his presence. He can only hold it back, tie it to himself and allow his body to be locked in eternal battle with the beast. Tears, useless things, were freezing fast on the the short tips of his eyelashes He calls out for someone, _anyone_. He calls out for warmth, for love, for _companionship. _But he doesn't have a voice. He has _no one._

And yet...Yet he does it for _them. _The ones who had people and love and hate. And war and peace and allies and enemies. The ones who are Of The Land and Of The People and For Their Rule. They, who are the barriers of their people and he is their barrier for the chill. He will cherish them and protect them and _hurt_ them. He hopes, he wants, he needs...He has _nothing_.

And even when the ages of the world escaped him, they'd be occasionally reminding him with a day old spilled blood or bodies upon bodies strewn for thousands of years. Some days he could feel the weight of a million. And so the General allows the claws of the snow to rip with ferocity at his cheeks and scar his bare lips. He permits the jealous winds to snarl and wail when he tries to approach the others. He opens his mouth to yell, to beg for comfort. But he alienation wrenches his heart painfully when the screeching blizzard plucks and steals his howls. He was so cold, so alone, and forever fighting. Gunshots and spears, blood gurgling in his throat, needing, _desperately_...He is _nowhere_.

So he trudges one more step, the pressures on his shoulder and battle on his mind. The sour and permanently elusive, empty promise of emotion tickles his lips. Its sweet motivation brushes his tongue and the sticky taste of a life lived rolls against his teeth, right before the bitterness of harsh reality sets in. Even though his legs are tired and and his chest constricts in pain, he moves forward, lurching and stumbling. The frozen ground clutches at his legs when he stomps ahead, determined to stop him. But he had a purpose to fight this monster of winter, tearing with bloodied fangs in a whirl of wind and fists. But he still moves forward. It's all he _wants_.

He is General Winter, the embodiment of human survival. He fights the cold and is the cold. The wild gale shakes his bones when they roar, yet he causes the frost to falter when he storms. He will defend, he will hold, he will move onward.. The cries of war fill his ears and the scent of mayhem overwhelms his nostrils. A fog of death clouds his vision and blurs his path but he will move. He_ will_ move. It's everything he _does._


	3. I like my body with Yours

**A/N: This is a cold war fic for the Korean War. Since this took forever to type and you should know what the cold war is, I didn't put up notes. To all my historical junkies out there reading this, I'm sorry! Please please pleas comment so I can get feedback and suggestions. Thank you!**

"I like my body when it is with your body"

–E.E. Cummings

Korea really isn't sure when he actually falls asleep. He definitely isn't sure what happens when he wakes. Suddenly he finds he's not Korea any more, he's red and blue, far apart and in two. He opens his eyes only to see out of two pairs (but it doesn't matter because they're_ his)_ and stares at himself. He can breath, steadily but but heavily but starts to doubt this being of one when he feels different heartbeats in his chest. But his body is with _his_ body and _is _his body so he figures it's okay. Even when he realizes it's now "they" (their, them,_ itswrongpleasestop_)

There's a tangle of legs and a wrapping of arms and as faces draw closer. His head is in the crook of the _others'_ neck and his hand brushes against _their_ back. His chin rests atop a crop of thick black hair like his and he starts to slowly rub the arm of the other. Cheeks touch and warmth rubs, laughter (_is he insane?_) coming out shrill and forced. Korea decides not to ask for who or even for what but _why_. _Whywhywhywhy!?_ Their (or _his_ considering he's still not sure) mouths move simultaneously like an image and its reflection in the stream. _They_ mimic the sounds of the other– like echos on the heels of a call– and whisper, "they know why." He finally kisses something and closes the space then tries, _tries so hard_, to become that being of one again. Red and blue doesn't make purple.

Life chooses to break the silence when it brings America and Russia and makes them raise eyebrows as arguments are exchanged like gifts in a spring festival. That is, far too easily. Korea wonders why words are always turning into bullets when red and blue can't even make purple. Eventually China comes too, (_Aniki~_)then his mouth sets in a firm line, so that's when they (not he) are _separated_.(_And_ _OhGod,ithurtssomuch.)_ It hurts to be pulled in half and torn apart, clinging and screaming like death being ripped from their throats and piercing the air. They tighten their grip and claw in, yanking hard but America and Russia are too strong. Now red is North and blue is South and Korea is _they_.

Russia takes him away and whispers softly about the workers and shows him equality and justice. He looks at an intimidating bronze hammer and smiles at his reflection in the golden sickle. He doesn't notice the red blood dripping from them though. Instead he looks proudly at his people when he sees them crushing an inferno that blazes so hot and fierce it's now blue (_Russia says._) The flame can devour everything in its path like rampaging monster (_Russia says_.) So he is red and he is red for his people. Because (_Russia says_) Red good, blue bad and he will have to become one. Still yet, Russia wonders when China will tell him it's not real.

But then there is America who yells grand things about leaders then sweeps his arms wildly to present him freedom and individuality. His bright blue sky is open for his people with silver planes streaking through them like shooting stars. Even so, it's still strange how he turns his head away from the red bombs dropping from them. But it doesn't matter when his eyes fall on his people, pleased to see them holding up to crimson warheads (_America says._) They could come at anytime and choke that beautiful sky with a sickly gray shroud of smoke (_America says_.) But his people choose to die on their feet with a blue sky in their reach. Because (_America says_) Better dead than red and the hero will prevail. Besides, America figures Vietnam will say something soon anyways.

North and South look over the parallel and chuckle about the simple things in life. They laugh about how the others must see them. Japan looks at the lavender dawn, watching it split into a raging scarlet sun slicing into the trembling navy heavens. It does nothing to help his mood as China breathes split atoms at his back. Cuba on the other hand watches through palm tree leaves as the bleeding solar body is swallowed by wild ocean on aquamarine, morphing slowly into a sickly violet. Ignoring Turkey's piercing glares, he continues to smoke his cigar. Taiwan turns away to count the petals on a lotus blossom and England reminds himself that Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia. They (it never was _him_ was it?) lean over and whisper _how_ they know why; "I like my body when it is with your body," he says (_redandblueisntpurple._) "Even if it isn't _mine _anymore."


	4. Cranes

**A/N: Sorry about the long update, I've been a little busy with life in general (homwrk?! RAGEQUIT!) I plan on doing the next chapter on France's Reign of Terror (Google it) which is based on another fanfic called Black Ribbons. It's pretty awesome you should read it.**

Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire.

–Fire and Ice by Robert Frost

Japan can't say which hurts more; the pealing burns across his body or the thin paper cuts from the cranes. He eventually decides it's the cuts because the burns can disappear even when the cranes don't. Each one screams the same thing over and over (_I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry._) Regardless, he refuses to apologize as he folds the light slices of paper over and pulls them. Counting how many he's made so far, he can't really help but wonder when he'll reach a thousand (_because 30 million is such a large number._) The paper crinkles harshly when it creases but Kiku still smiles (_even if Japan sobs._)

He tucks in the wings of a black crane and straightens the threads of blue ink that create its beak. Unsurprisingly he notices how similar it the crane looks like his back, dark and curling, twisting blue veins swirling around. The next bird is slightly crumpled and its color is whiter than the snarling foam of the sea. He picks it up, lathering its throat in red. He pauses for a second before doing the same thing to its tail. Kiku decides their name will be Pika-Don.

Nagasaki is next, gray and brown with shreds of rosy pink and milk colored paper pathetically hanging on to its sides. Its neck is crumpled, dry, and dripping flecks of maroon (_dried blood and torn flesh_) and Kiku aggressively pokes at it to see if it will fall over. When it doesn't he raises his brush and adorns its head with rivers of glowing green water. It looks poisoned and radioactive. Japan pushes it down.

His hands flutter around gold and scarlet paper, creasing the edges and pulling out the tail. Raising its head proudly and its form fierce with determination, it looks majestic and old. Kiku carefully picks it up and for a little while, lets it dance in his fingers. A stroke of fiery white slams across its back and bleeds slowly into the wings. The staining color seems offensive and strange on the paper bird. Completely frustrated, Japan frowns deeply at the crane. Instead of tamed and conquered, it looks wrong and violated somehow, the white paint all too stark against the red. Nanjing glares at him accusingly.

He uses lavender paper for Hiroshima, yanking the beak into position. The breast is lightly dabbed pink and if Kiku squints, he can almost mistake it for a clump of sakura petals. The graceful fowl's neck is sloped and its head tilts elegantly. The folds are all soft as the paper rolls itself into a new shape, bouncing and rounding into form. The crane is nothing short of gorgeous with jumping colors that shift slightly with the movement. But for a reason Japan can't place, he can taste hot tears in his mouth.

The next crane, he thinks, will be blue. He dots its tail with flickering stars and bold red and white stripes that confidently decorate the wings. The crane dwarfs the other origami birds as a shuddering power radiates from its body. This bird is loud– loud and punishing– and Kiku winces at its affects. Its back is sturdy and stiff allowing the navy beak to point upwards at him defiantly. Japan isn't stupid though and knows that this wild one was meant to have a tame, docile, and reserved spirit. He still paints red eyes upon it anyways (_have you awoken yet sleeping giant?_) and calls this terrible resolve Iwo-Jima.

Kiku picks up Manchuria's paper cautiously and let's his fingers play on the corners. They're orange, a lonesome dying color mourning alone on the wispy breeze. The paper itself twitches when it folds as if it was fragile in every crease and bend. He splashes a sickly yellow on its base while a wry smile graces his lips when little paint touches the sides. Manchuko had always been a tricky little thing. Noticing the sharp tip of the tail, he then (_all too eagerly_) flattens it quickly. Japan then runs his hands slowly on the crane's throat whispering something, mumbling another, and then sets it with the others.

He doesn't understand why but the cranes have stared at him for a long time now. Kiku feels as if he should say something but he knows haw the cranes never speak back...at least not anymore. Some days his breath still catches when he sees their vibrant colors dance in the light and feels his face blush hot as he hears the paper flutter in the wind. Kiku opens his mouth to speak. The cranes are watching him again. Japan ignores them.

**A/N: Info time! During WW2 the Japanese killed over 30 million people. Pika-don means flash bang and is the name given to the atomic bomb (cuz' there would be a really bright light and then a shock wave of sound after the explosion.) Nagasaki was the fist city to have the bomb dropped on it in which 60,000–80,000 people died and around 140,000 were injured. Hiroshima, the second city, had 70,000 die and 70,000 more die from the radiation poisoning. **

**Iwo-Jima was the first invasion of the Japan by the US in which America won. This was the the place where the famous "soldiers raising the flag" scene was actually done. The quote "I fear all we have done is to awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve" is wrongly atrributed to General Yamamoto but desribes his emotins about the attack on Pearl Harbor.**

**In Manchuria the Japanese invaded an took over. They treated the natives rather horribly and tried to forcibly Japify them or else they'd die. **

**Nanjing on the other hand was a whole other beast. The Japanese were just terrible. According to Wikipedia: **

"**T****he International Military Tribunal for the Far East estimated that 20,000 women were raped, including infants and the elderly. A large portion of these rapes were systematized in a process where soldiers would search door-to-door for young girls, with many women taken captive and **gang raped**. The women were often killed immediately after being raped, often through explicit mutilation or by stabbing a bayonet, long stick of bamboo, or other objects into the vagina. Young children were not exempt from these atrocities, and were cut open to allow Japanese soldiers to rape them.**

**On 19 December 1937, Reverend James M. McCallum wrote in his diary:**

**I know not where to end. Never I have heard or read such brutality. Rape! Rape! Rape! We estimate at least 1,000 cases a night, and many by day. In case of resistance or anything that seems like disapproval, there is a bayonet stab or a bullet... People are hysterical ... Women are being carried off every morning, afternoon and evening. The whole Japanese army seems to be free to go and come as it pleases, and to do whatever it pleases."**


End file.
